Some Sundays, as a child, held what I call magical getting-lost days, ones where my family would go to church, head home to change clothes, then plop in the back seat of our Fury II, and go for a ride. Out of Bloomington, a suburb of Minneapolis, we’d go, far away from the planes that flew hourly over our house near the airport. A meandering family were we, along the Mississippi, River, Lake Pepin, or Chippewa Falls; somehow we always stumbled upon small towns and country roads. I loved being in the car with my favorite people. Loved that Dad welcomed the challenge…

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